


Plance A-Z: Steamed Vegetables Edition

by Fairia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairia/pseuds/Fairia
Summary: ...I'm going to hell. (Want to join me?)
Relationships: Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	1. A is for Ass (Ivy [AnchoredTether])

**Author's Note:**

> Whaaaat? I've done a sin bin version of my Plance A-Z prompts? :shocked face:  
> ....Actually, anybody who's even passingly acquainted with me is probably not very shocked at all.

**1.0 A is for Ass (I v y [AnchoredTether])**

Lance was reaching for her almost before the door closed, fumbling with hidden catches and triggers, letting pieces of armor drop to the floor in his haste to get them off as quickly as possible. Pidge was in a similar state, and they bumped into each other, getting in each other’s way but too frantic to stop and be sensible as the tension between them mounted.

Today’s battle had been a hard one. Nobody had died, or even been seriously wounded, but it had been _close._ They’d been split up, with Keith and Pidge pinned down behind enemy lines and Hunk, Lance and Allura desperately trying to reach them. Unable to form Voltron, they’d been forced to lead the Galra forces on a merry chase around the fleet, dodging fire and drawing the forces away until Pidge and Keith could reach them. 

Lance dropped Pidge’s helmet in the pile growing around them, deliberately not looking at the scoring along the temple. Ignoring her attempts to wrench off his arm bracers, Lance reached out, grasping her fingers and drawing them up, pressing his lips against the tips before moving to press them to his cheek.

“It was too close,” he murmured, reveling in the feel of her skin against his.

“It’s always too close.” Pidge’s fingers wriggled, cupping his cheek briefly before sliding up, behind his head and drawing him down to her.

She was right, but with the adrenaline still singing through his veins, Lance was able to set that worry aside and lose himself in the heat of her mouth, moaning as he tongue stroked against his, her clever fingers already working at the seams of his body suit.

“Pidge,” Lance whined into her mouth as she palmed him through the fabric, “no. I— I want to feel you.”

“Oh, you’ll feel me alright,” Pidge muttered against his lips, and Lance could feel her own quirk into a smirk. “Warm and wet and—”

 _“Jeez,_ Pidge,” Lance groaned, feeling himself harden further. He hoisted her up, shoving her back against the wall as her legs wrapped around his hips. Lance tilted his pelvis, unapologetically grinding against her still-clothed sex as his fingers dug into her ass.

“Yes,” she panted into his mouth, tongue moving against his briefly before she pulled back to bite at his lower lip. Her hips canted, spine arching as she maneuvered to press her clit against him. “Please.”

Lance grit his teeth as Pidge attacked his neck, trying to find the balance between pulling her close and giving himself enough room to move as she writhed against him. 

He wasn’t worried about being interrupted. After racing back to the castleship to make the jump away as quickly as possible, they’d all split up to go deal with the excess adrenaline in their own ways. Hunk liked to pummel punching bags into submission, and Keith was probably destroying the bots in the training room. Lance and Pidge had barely made it to the closest room (his, luckily, because hers was a trash heap) before trying to tear each other’s clothes off.

Pidge’s teeth dug into his trapezius muscle and Lance nearly whined. “Stay with me.”

“You could have died.” Lance dipped his forehead to rest against her shoulder as he rutted against her, arms tightening convulsively. 

“I’m fine,” Pidge insisted, breath hitching as her legs tightened around him. There was scoring on her helmet and her arm guard that suggested that this almost wasn’t the case, but Lance didn’t point that out. Instead, he focused on rubbing against that bundle of nerves that was still hidden under layers of fabric, wishing he could spare a hand. Still, he thought with satisfaction as Pidge’s head tipped back, sweat-soaked hair clinging to her neck and shifting in the dim light as she cried out, he wasn’t a sniper for nothing. 

He let her ride out her orgasm, watching smugly as her eyes clenched shut, lips trembling open as she keened. The sight of her was _almost_ enough to send him over the edge with her, but he grit his teeth, kneading the flesh of her ass as he held back.

He wanted inside of her. 

Pidge’s head tipped forward, resting against his shoulder as her hips continued to make small, abortive movements against him. “That was awesome,” she mumbled against his neck, mouth gentle as she sucked on the skin there. “Let’s do it again.”

Grinning, Lance let her down so they could get the rest of her clothes off, patting her ass affectionately as they did so. “That’s my girl.”


	2. B is for Bandana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith probably won't want that back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you've read the SFW-version of this, then in chapter 2, Lance stole Keith's bandana.  
> This is what he did with it.

**2.1 Bandana**

Pidge was wandering back from the kitchens when her attacker struck, grabbing her from behind and pulling her into a darkened room along the corridor.

The feast had ended not too long ago, but it was late enough that everyone had dispersed pretty much as soon as they’d hit the door. Keith had still been harping after Lance because he was  _ sure _ he knew where Keith’s bandana had disappeared to (“Is this revenge for cutting into your dance? It was just for a few minutes!”). Pidge had left them to it, going back to her room to change out of the fancy dress clothes and into her more comfortable lounging pants and sleep shirt before heading to the kitchens for a snack before bed.

Glasses knocked askew, Pidge struggled against the unseen hand and lashed out with her foot, only to have the attack blocked. She yelped as her feet were swiped out from underneath her and she plummeted towards the ground, grunting as her knees impacted with the floor. Her attacker shifted, and she felt their legs bracketing hers as they mimicked her position.  _ Stupid. _ The hand over her mouth shifted, and Pidge tensed, sucking in a breath to scream and tensing to throw her head back. 

She froze when a pair of lips brushed her cheek.

“Hey, babe.”

“Lance?” Pidge hissed, then jerked as she felt a pair of magnetic cuffs click around her wrists. “What the  _ fuck?” _

“I thought this would be a fun way to end the evening.” She could feel Lance’s smile against her skin as his hips twitched, pressing a burgeoning erection against her rear.

“Are you insane? I could have hurt you,” Pidge insisted.

“I mean, yeah, maybe, if I didn’t know all your moves,” Lance areed easily.

Pidge only had a moment to glance around — it was one of the many unused rooms in the ship, with the wall panels adjusted to transparency to allow the ambient light from the planet’s two moons to illuminate it — before a cloth was wrapped around her eyes, obscuring her vision.

“Comfy?” Lance asked conversationally as he knotted the blindfold snugly behind her head.

“I’m on my knees, blindfolded and handcuffed, in my pajamas. Also, the peanut butter cookies were gone,” Pidge informed him, reaching her hand out to brush her fingertips over the front of his pants. “And I’m hungry, so I hope that’s a banana and not your dick.”

Lance snorted softly against the skin of her neck, and she shivered in response. “How about I stick it in your mouth and you tell me which one it is?”

Pidge pursed her lips and considered as her boyfriend licked and nibbled along her neck, hands sliding over her arms to toy with the waistband of her pajama pants. “Well, I guess I can’t stop you…”

Lance smirked against her skin, fingers dipping under the waistband to trace the sensitive flesh between her hip bones. “Tell me no, and mean it, and I’ll stop. Always.”

Something in the region of her heart softened, and Pidge exhaled, tilting her head back against Lance’s shoulder. “Yes,” she whispered.

Lance shuddered, pressing against her as his hand moved down, slipping under the hem of her underwear to toy with her folds. The other hand went up, reaching under her shirt to cup the slight weight of her breast and toy with the nipple as his mouth continued to suck at the sensitive skin of her neck. 

Relaxing, Pidge leaned back as his finger slipped between her folds, dipping into her slightly to draw out the slight moisture there, before withdrawing to rub at the bundle of nerves at her center. His fingers continued to pluck at her breast, rolling the nipple, tugging and pinching it between his fingers. She canted her hips, trying to tempt his fingers back in, but he resisted, tracing the edge of her labia instead before rubbing a little harder against her clit.

He would get to it soon enough, she reasoned. She enjoyed his fingers (so much longer and more nimble than her own) and he knew it; he loved to see how many he could press into her before the stretch was too much, and which way to twist them for his favorite reactions. He was hardening against her now, and Pidge could feel his erection straining against the front of his pants. 

Closing her eyes, Pidge relaxed against him fully, trusting him to hold her weight as he had his way with her. Idly, she twisted her wrists, grasping him through the soft cotton he was wearing and massaging his length with her palm.

“I thought you were going to feed this to me,” she said, as his fingers dipped back into her, “so I would know if it was a banana or not.”

Lance snorted and pressed his middle finger back into her, and Pidge smiled at the slight intrusion as he pumped his finger experimentally.

“And where did you get a blindfold, anyway?” Pidge asked. “You didn’t have Coran synthesize one, did you? Or—”

“Clearly I am not doing my job right,” Lance muttered, and a second finger joined the first, pressing and rubbing her walls before withdrawing to toy with her clit. 

“I can multitask,” Pidge informed him breezily. “So, how did you ditch Keith, anyway? He seemed pretty insistent. And Allura wanted to ask about—”

Lean fingers tweaked her nipple, and Pidge paused as the slight sting sent a jolt of pleasure through her. “You know, we have training in a few hours…”

“Hush, or I will plug your mouth up,” Lance growled, grinding his erection against her. Pidge winced as it twisted her wrists uncomfortably, but Lance retreated before she could protest.

“I think Shiro wants to work on escaping imprisonment,” Pidge mused. “He and Allura stole a bunch of cuffs last time we broke onto a cruiser. Is this...pre-gaming or something?”

“Yes,” Lance said dryly.

“Boy, you’d better hope you’re the one Shiro pairs up with me, or I’m going to have some serious explaining to do about my reactions to the scenario,” Pidge teased.

Lance bit her neck, the move just shy of painful as he withdrew, his weight shifting back and forcing her to hold herself up as he moved away from her. Pidge could hear him shifting about, and for a moment thought she’d gone too far, but then Lance spoke:

“You have such a clever mouth,” he growled as something bumped against her lips, leaving a string of moisture as it withdrew, “put it to work.”

Automatically, Pidge’s tongue darted out, and she smirked at the salty, slightly bitter taste. Lance’s dick tapped her lips again. “Open up.”

Obediently, Pidge tilted her head back and opened her mouth. The soft, rounded head of Lance’s dick breached her lips and Pidge leaned forward, tucking her chin down and sucking the shaft into her mouth. Her tongue flattened against the underside and her nose brushed against Lance’s fingers as they shifted back to give her room.

Fellatio wasn’t her forte, really. Her mouth was small, and her gag reflex sensitive, so Pidge couldn’t really take all of Lance this way, and usually used her hands to cover what she couldn’t while she worked the head. Today, her hands were bound, so Pidge did her best, suckling and licking along the shaft, teasing the slit with her tongue and taking as much as she could.

“Good girl,” Lance said lowly, and Pidge shuddered at the unexpected pleasure the words brought. His hand slipped into her hair, fingers tangling in the strands and stroking lightly as she bobbed.  _ “Good _ girl…”

Pidge alternated between sucking and licking, going as far as she could, or withdrawing until only the tip rested in her mouth. The weight on him on her tongue, the slight tang of precome, was satisfying on a purely primal level, the faint gasps and hums of pleasure all the louder for the lack of sight to distract her. Lance’s fingers tightened in her hair, relaxing and stroking as she worked. The floor was cool and hard against her knees, bordering on uncomfortable, but the heat of his thighs helped distract her.

Wildly, Pidge wished that she could have his fingers in her  _ now _ . She was wet, and ready, and couldn’t even try to grind against anything with him standing in front of her.

“Ahh, Pidge,” Lance muttered, fingers tightening in her hair, subtly pressing her forward insistently. 

Pidge pushed back, popping off of his dick to gasp “I need my hands.”

“No,” Lance replied, pressing against the back of her head, encouraging her forward, “not tonight. Work with what you’ve got.”

Pidge scowled, but allowed herself to be guided back to him, taking him in until she bumped his fingers again, surprised when they followed her back as she retreated. 

He was helping, she realized. She couldn’t take him down very far, so he was making up the difference with his own hand. It took a bit of practice, but eventually they found a pace that worked, her mouth sucking him in, and his hand pumping in tandem with her rhythm. 

_ ‘Teamwork at its finest,’ _ Pidge thought sardonically, wishing she had a way to soothe the heat coiling in her gut. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking harder and trying not to moan. Above her, Lance’s breath was hitching, coming out in abortive gasps as his fingers tightened in her hair

Gods, even that felt good, and Pidge couldn’t stop the moan at the tug against her scalp.

“Pidge,” Lance said, sounding breathless. “Almost there. Just—”

But Pidge already knew; Lance was hardening further in her mouth, and Pidge pulled back, tonguing the slit before sucking him down as hard as she could, hollowing her cheeks and pressing her tongue flat against him. Lance groaned, shooting into her mouth, fingers tugging at her hair as she swallowed around him. 

When he was finished, sensitive and shuddering, Pidge pulled back, releasing him and leaning back on her heels. She tipped her head back, “looking” up towards where she estimated his face was. “I want your fingers. Or your mouth. Or your dick.”

“I can do that,” Lance said breathlessly.

“But I want a soft surface,” Pidge insisted, shifting as the ache in her knees made itself known. 

“I’m not going to walk you handcuffed and blindfolded to your room,” Lance said, amusement in his voice. 

“The cuffs need rearranging anyway, if I’m going to lie back,” Pidge agreed. “But the blindfold can stay on; I’m kind of liking it.”

“...Alright,” Lance agreed after a beat, reaching down to help her to her feet and guiding her towards the door. “Your room’s closer.”

“Where did you get it anyway?” Pidge asked, gritting her teeth as her thighs rubbed together and reminded her of how turned on she was. “You didn’t really get Coran to make one, did you?”

“Nah,” Lance drawled, sounding so gleefully smug that Pidge actually paused, “I just borrowed it from Keith.”


	3. C is for Confused (Cyantific, Galra Plance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> C is for Confused (Cyantific, Galra Plance)
> 
> Pidge makes her move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galra Plance! In my headspace, the Galra society is loosely matriarchal in nature: the males may express interest in a female, but it's up to the females to make the first move, and they're the ones who establish the boundaries of the relationship. If the courtship is sincere, then it's up to both parties to prove that they're able to care for and provide for the other. This isn't explored much (it's a smutty drabble, after all), but it's relevant to how Pidge and Lance act, so I thought I'd mention it.
> 
> Also! Pidge and Lance's Glara designs are based off of Ivy's own work. She really amped up the height difference between Lance and Pidge, so Pidge only comes up to about Lance's sternum. Also, her coloring is a lovely shade of pinkish-purple. (It probably has an official name, but)
> 
> If you're interested in what they look like (with clothes on lol) you can check it out here:  
> https://anchoredtetherart.tumblr.com/post/614391435393925120/i-had-to-make-a-reference-sheet-for-these-two-so-i  
> https://anchoredtetherart.tumblr.com/post/613526619347402752/how-many-aus-can-i-make-where-lance-has-cat-ears

There were a lot of things Lance expected on a day-to-day basis. He expected to put on his uniform, he expected to report to duty, he expected the mind-numbing monotony of patrolling the same sector of space on the same too-small ship with the same people day-in, and day-out. 

He was somehow not expecting the teeth that dug into the back of his arm, fangs biting through fabric and fur and digging into the sinew and muscle beneath.

 _“Ow!”_ Lance yowled, wrenching his arm around, staring in disbelief at the much smaller Galra still doggedly attached to it. “Pidge!”

Pidge’s fangs retracted as she blinked up at him innocently. “Good afternoon.”

“What was that for?” Lance demanded, rubbing the back of his arm and glaring down at the tiny (even by non-Galra standards) female next to him. He could feel his ears flicking back in gitation

“Remember back in Academy when you said I should find other uses for my mouth?” Pidge nipped at his ribs.

Lance twisted, momentarily forgetting the padding that would have saved him from her teeth. “This is not what I had in mind, Pidge!”

“Really?” Pidge smirked at him, one tiny, razor-sharp fang peeking out of her lip. She stepped in front of him, and Lance barely managed to dance backwards as the illogically-tiny Glara woman snapped at his stomach. “You never said.”

“Well, of _course_ I didn’t,” Lance muttered, twisting out of the way of nimble fingers. Being reminded of what a jackass he’d been as an adolescent wasn’t his favorite past time.

“Interesting, though, that you never actually told me to shut up,” Pidge observed, unrepentant as she continued to step into his personal space. “I think nearly everyone else did, at some point or another.” She glanced up at him. “You probably thought it, though.”

Lance felt shame heat his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Again.”

Pidge only shrugged. “I did kind of talk a lot.”

“Still not a an excuse,” Lance muttered.

“We were adolescents,” Pidge told him. Her fingers dug into his stomach again, but when he didn’t move, she snapped at him, fangs angling for the sensitive skin inside of his elbow. She smirked when he moved his arm, taking a reflexive step back as she crowded him.

“Still not an excuse,” he repeated firmly.

“I called you an overgrown fuckboy.” Pidge arched a deep mauve brow.

“I mean, you weren’t wrong,” Lance pointed out. He’d been more than happy to bed any willing female who wanted him...including a few who just wanted to blow off steam. And even if he wasn’t exactly ashamed of his past exploits, he wasn’t exactly _proud_ of them, either.

“But I wasn’t _right_.”

Fingers prodded him again, and Lance was beginning to realize that Pidge was actually _herding_ him, not just trying to chew on him for the hell of it. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “I was cruel.”

“And now you’re not,” Pidge said, ears twitching, staring up at him as she crowded back into his personal space. Lance licked his lips and tried to ignore the fact that her chest was essentially pressed against his groin. “But I realized the other day… you would tell me to find another use for my mouth. All the time.”

Lance shifted his weight uncomfortably, and Pidge leaned against him, left shoulder pressing into his side. Lance waited until her fangs poked out before taking a step back, wondering what her endgame was. “I did,” he admitted reluctantly. His back bumped against a wall.

“I always thought you were just telling me to shut up, or to stop talking.” Pidge leaned forward, blunt teeth nipping at his ribs through the thin fabric of his regulation suit. Her arms were a frail cage as they bracketed him, trapping him against the wall. “But that wasn’t what you were saying at all, was it?”

“Pidge, wha—!” Lance toppled backwards as a door hissed abruptly open, sending Lance tumbling backwards into a supply closet. He tripped, managed to catch himself on some shelving, and stared at Pidge as she stood triumphant and absurdly tiny in the doorway.

Fleetingly, Lance wondered if he’d just been trapped by a shapeshifter, and was about to be locked in a closet while the Blades or the Coalition or someone boarded their ship. Tanager-5 wasn’t _that_ important, but they did have a mine…

Smirking, Pidge strolled into the closet, and the door slid shut behind her. Lance blinked, straightening as he wondered what, exactly she was after. Despite her diminutive size — patently ludicrous compared to most Galra, but nobody had dared tease her about it in _deca-phoebes_ — Pidge could be downright _terrifying_ when she wanted to be. 

Still, they’d been working together for movements now; he thought that they had moved beyond their past antagonist history, that they were _friends,_ and (if he was reading the situation right) possibly more. Probably more. _Hopefully_ more.

Pidge stepped in close to him, and Lance felt his ears pin back against his head. Pidge, the tiny demon, looked nothing less than amused. “What did you want me to do with my mouth, Lance?”

“Uh.” There was blood rushing to his cheeks, he could fucking _feel_ his own body betraying him as his cheeks turned lavender despite himself. “Nothing.”

“Lie,” Pidge sing-songed, ears flicking playfully as she smirked up at him.

“It’s not polite to call people out like that,” Lance complained. He was probably leaking pheromones too, despite the suit’s dampening effects.

“I’m not polite — deal with it.” Pidge nipped at his sternum, fingers hooking in his belt as he tried to squirm away. “And answer the question.”

“Not a chance,” Lance protested, even as the warm-spicy scent he would often associate with Pidge flooded his nose. 

“Whaaat?” Pidge leaned into him, head tilted back and eyes disarmingly wide in the low light. “But Lance, you spent _years_ of Academy telling me to find another use for my mouth.” 

She stretched up towards him, rising on tip toes in an effort to get closer to his face, and Lance tried not to notice that she was effectively rubbing herself against his groin to do so. He took a deep, steadying breath, and immediately regretted the decision. 

Pidge’s scent, normally noticeable and easily identifiable, was practically _flooding_ the enclosed space of the closet. 

This was definitely not helping his downstairs situation, and Lance shifted, trying to ease his hips back from her front before she noticed the effect she was having on him.

Pidge’s eyes narrowed, ears flicking back in annoyance now. “Answer me, Lance.” 

“I…” Lance’s heart was hammering in his throat. 

Pidge frowned. “Lance.”

He tried breathing shallowly, taking in less of her scent and desperately not thinking of how small she felt against him, of her breasts rubbing against his stomach. And oh Gods she had _nipples_ , could she feel them as they rubbed over his uniform or—?

 _‘Not helping, Lance!’_ he thought frantically.

Pidge was no longer looking amused and was now looking exasperated in earnest. “Lance,” she said firmly, reaching up and snagging his chin in one clawed hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. Something she saw there (his panic, maybe) calmed her down, and she snorted. “Tell me, _in detail_ , what exactly you wanted me to use my mouth for, Lance.” 

“I wanted you to suck my dick!” The words were out of Lance’s mouth before his brain could concoct a more believable lie. “I… I wanted you to use your mouth on me.” His eyes slammed shut and he waited for the claws to close over his throat.

“There,” Pidge said, warm satisfaction curling through her voice, “was that so hard?”

“I mean, pretty sure you’re going to neuter me, so,” Lance mumbled.

“You idiot,” Pidge said fondly. Her fingers released his chin to tap his nose. “Pay attention.”

His eyes snapped open as Pidge’s nails trailed down his neck teasingly, catching on the collar of his uniform before continuing down over his chest. Her eyes were still on him, wide, molten-gold as she watched him patiently.

Cautiously, Lance inhaled, ignoring the automatic hardening of his cock and focusing on sorting out what the scents in the room were trying to tell him. He knew the scent of his own arousal, of course, and could smell Pidge’s normal warm-green-earthy scent, with it’s faint traces of mineral oil and ozone that he associated with machinery. Now that he was actually sorting it out, he could smell the faint spicy-warm undertones that she often carried around him, and he was shocked to realize that it was her _arousal._

“Oh,” he said dumbly. “Since...since when?”

“Scent masking is one of my Talents,” she informed him, looking amused.

“It’s not one of mine,” Lance admitted.

“I know.” Pidge shrugged. “You’ve smelt like low-grade arousal around me for _deca-pheobes_ … I rather thought it was just typical adolescent stuff.”

“Heh. Yeah, I can see that,” Lance mused. Adolescents almost _always_ smelt of arousal or release to some degree: hormones were just a bitch like that. “But, um, that doesn’t tell me when you realized I liked you.”

“You’re a mature male.” Pidge’s fingers curled around his belt. “And yet, whenever I’m around, the scent of arousal persists.” 

“Yeah...I guess that would be a giveaway,” Lance hummed. 

“So, tell me, _Lance_ , what did you want me to do with my mouth?”

“I wanted you to suck my dick," Lance told her breathlessly. "Your mouth... it was always moving. And if you had just...I don't know, babbled? I could have ignored you. But you knew everything, all the time. You had every answer in class, and every time anyone got something wrong, the...the instructor called on you to correct them and..."

"You liked it," Pidge said, looking amused. "I thought you hated me, but you liked it. You liked _me_."

"Not...not at first," Lance admitted ruefully, reaching out and hesitantly running a hand over the barely-there fuzz on her cheek, hoping he wouldn't get snapped at. "At first, you were just another annoying classmate. I thought you were cute, but..."

"When did you notice me?" Pidge's hand was around his erection, still trapped in his pants, and Lance shuddered as she squeezed.

"Just after my Awakening," Lance tipped his head back, distantly aware that he was showing her his throat—literally and metaphorically. ‘ _Though she might have to jump to reach one,’_ he thought ruefully.

Pidge paused, clawed thumb rubbing over the tip of his hard dick, and Lance gritted his teeth as sparks shot up his spine. "I'd wondered."

"What? Really?" Lance stared down at her as she started pulling apart the closure of his uniform. And then "...here?"

"Once I'd started thinking back, I realized I didn't make the connections because you had _always_ told me to find a better use for my mouth," Pidge said, chagrined and rueful. Material parted easily under her hands. "So tell me, _in detail_ , what you wanted me to do with my mouth."

His cock was almost fully extended, the sheath pulled back completely and exposing him to the cool air of the closet. Lance had never considered himself large—proportional, yes. Large? Not overmuch—but staring at Pidge gripping him in her hand his first thought was _'If I try to fuck her, I'm going to kill her.'_

Pidge's thumb running up the underside of his shaft brought him shivering back to himself. She stared at him expectantly.

"We were in class, and we'd all done so poorly on an exam that the instructor had called _you_ up there to tell us what we'd done wrong," Lance recounted. "Remember? The jackass actually threw his hands up and said we were so stupid that he couldn't be bothered, and you would have to explain it."

"That didn't do me any favors," Pidge muttered. "Bayult and his cronies taunted me for weeks."

"Your hair was shorter," Lance told her, eyes sliding shut as he recalled a younger Pidge, already a tiny titan amongst her much larger and stronger peers, at the front of the classroom, unhappy at being there but going to do what she was told anyway. "You pursed your lips and... they were so pink."

" _I_ am so pink," Pidge snorted, hands stroking up and down his shaft.

"I hadn't really noticed until then," Lance's lips quirked. "But you were up there, just...recounting all the ways we'd screwed up the exercise. It was like you were reciting a list. And...all I could do was look at your mouth and wish it was on my dick."

"Like this?" Pidge asked teasingly. She bent over, tongue darting out, and Lance shuddered as she licked a stripe up his shaft.

"N-no," he said. "My dick...in your mouth."

"Oh, like this," Pidge said, and Lance had to bite back a whine as her tiny, pink lips parted, stretching obscenely around his cock as she sucked him in. Her mouth was wet, and tight, and so incredibly hot that Lance felt his balls tensing up, and had to bite his lip not to shoot off right there. She stilled, the head of the shaft just inside, and looked up at him expectantly.

"At first, I imagined fucking your mouth, right there in the classroom," Lance admitted, the words simultaneously grounding and exciting him as he recalled his long-ago fantasies. "I would go up there and just...plug you up. You couldn't talk, couldn't tell me how I had messed up or how inferior I was, because I'd stuffed my cock into your mouth, and all you could do was suck it."

Pidge hummed, letting him slide further back into her mouth, throat relaxing until he felt himself bump the back of her mouth. She glanced up at him, eyebrow raised.

Lance snorted, amused that she could look bossy and expectant even now. "Yes, like that. You'd suck my dick until you liked it, and when I sprayed over your face, you'd thank me for it."

Pidge's eyebrow kicked up again, and Lance privately marveled that she could actually look _admonishing_ with his dick in her mouth.

"You asked me about my _fantasy_ ," Lance told her, torn between laughter and dismay. "I know that's not how it would go in reality.”

Pidge's lips twitched, her hand closing around his shaft as she pulled back, and Lance sighed at the gentle suction.

"Then," he continued, "I wanted you to want _me_ in the middle of class. I imagined you'd call me up to the front, and you'd suck me off in front of everyone. They would all know that you'd _chosen_ me, that you found me superior and worthy to be your mate."

Pidge's tiny hands were warm, wrapped around his shaft and pushing the sheath back as she covered his dick. Lance tipped his head back, eyes sliding closed as he recalled the fantasies of Pidge sucking him off, of _choosing_ him, in front of all of their classmates. She had never submitted to anybody, never bowed her head or exposed her neck outside of sparring, but in his fantasies she had kneeled for _him_. In his fantasies she acknowledged him in a way she never had in reality.

"You would suck my dick," Lance told her. "Massage my balls, because you wanted as much come as I could give you... _Ahh, yes."_ His back arched, spine extending as his hips canted to push towards her. His pants were cutting into his thighs as he spread his legs, giving her access to his most sensitive parts as her fingers grasped the bulge where his testicles nested and rolled them. Blindly, he groped for purchase on the shelving behind him.

Her mouth was hot and tight, fangs retracted and blunter teeth held carefully away as she sucked his head, hand moving and squeezing the shaft in time with her mouth.

"You would lick along it, nibble the sides," Lance told her breathlessly. Warmth was pooling at the base of his spine, the covering of his testicles hardening as the muscles tensed in preparation.

"And you would spray it on my face?" Pidge licked and sucked along the shaft, tongue pressing against the sensitive underside and dipping into the slit.

"Only in the beginning," Lance said. "And I know we can't do that here."

"I have to swallow," Pidge told him. "I can't get undressed quick enough to put you inside me."

Lance nearly shot his load right then, suddenly, violently assaulted by the image of Pidge naked from the waist down and jumping on his dick to catch his orgasm inside of herself.

"I...uh," he reached out, hips twitching as he tried to direct her back onto his cock, _fast_. "Pidge..."

"You like that?" Pidge asked, looking amused. "Do you want me to allow you inside of myself? Do you wish I would take you, _claim_ you, to keep your seed and gestate a child between us?"

 _"Fuck,"_ Lance groaned, jabbing his hips at her lips. Pidge darted forward, lips sealing over the head just as his balls tensed, jettisoning come up his shaft and into her waiting mouth.

The warmth in his spine spread, his hips twitching helplessly as stream after stream shot into her mouth. Pidge swallowed, and Lance shuddered, spine bowing helplessly under the weight of his pleasure.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Pidge mused as Lance pried his fingers out of her hair (when had he even—?), leaning back against the shelving for additional support.

"I, uh," Lance gave up and huffed out a sigh. "It was just a fantasy," he mumbled at last, knowing that the words were a flimsy defense against the truth. They might have worked with a lesser person, he thought ruefully, but then, Pidge had never been such a person.

“Hm.” Pidge straightened, watching his cock retract back into its sheath with idle curiosity as he flushed and tucked himself back into his pants, feeling oddly self-conscious. "I'll give you a chance," she said, nodding.

Lance paused, pants done halfway up as he stared at her. It took a moment for the words to compute because did she mean a chance to pleasure her or a chance to convince her he was a worthy mate?

Even as his mind was racing with the implications of the statement, Pidge was opening the door.

"Enjoy the rest of your shift, Sharpshooter," she shot over her shoulder as the door swished shut.

Lance narrowed his eyes consideringly.


	4. D is for Dance (Fairia...yes, that's me.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D is for Dance (Fairia)  
> Pidge is a Princess and Lance is part of her Protection Detail...but who's going to save Lance?
> 
> AKA a Royalty AU that I don't think anybody asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of missed the mark here. There's...a dance going on in the other room? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Your Highness, this really isn’t— _mmph.”_

“Shut up,” Katie hissed as she wrenched her lips back from his. “Don’t even pretend that you don’t know me, _Mr. McClain.”_

“Miss—” Lance grimaced at her glare. “ _Pidge_. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not?” Pidge had him backed up against the wall, palming him roughly through his work slacks. Lance nearly groaned as her hand closed around his erection. “Is that a gun in your pocket? No, because it’s in your shoulder holster. Tell me you don’t want me,” she dared him.

“Pidge, I work for your father.”

“So convenient,” Pidge muttered, clever, slender fingers slipping the buttons out of their holes and opening his suit jacket. Her lips were on his neck and Lance shuddered as she pressed against him.

“You’re a princess,” Lance tried again.

“Less convenient,” Pidge admitted. “But still, like, way down on the line of succession, so.”

“This freaking ball is to introduce you to other nobles in hopes that you’ll make a match,” Lance finished, trying not to let the bitterness bleed into his voice.

Pidge's fingers paused in the process of undoing his belt. "Yeah," she admitted quietly, fingertips tracing the edge of the worn leather contemplatively. "How old fashioned is that?"

Lance set his hand on her shoulder, careful not to muss her hair. "Pretty old-fashioned. But they're desperate."

"You mean my _mother_ is desperate," Pidge retorted, working the belt out of the buckle. "But… she's not a tyrant. She won't force me."

"But the point is—" Lance forgot the point when she drew the zipper of his pants down, hand worming into the fly of his boxer-briefs to close over his straining erection. "The point is..."

"To enjoy it while it lasts," Pidge said, sinking to her knees and drawing him into her mouth.

Lance slapped his hand over his mouth, muffling the gasp as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him. He groaned, tipping his head back to let it hit the wall behind him with a dull thud as he stared at the ornate ceiling of the room Pidge had unceremoniously shoved him into when she got tired of her various suitors vying for her attention.

They'd be missed, and soon. With that in mind, Lance let himself go, and stopped trying to deny the pleasure of having Pidge's mouth on him, her clever fingers stroking his shaft and tracing the veins while her tongue lapped at the underside of his dick.

"Pidge..." Lance muttered, dropping a hand down to her head and just barely aborting the movement before it connected, scowling down at her styled hair. If he mussed it, that would be noticed. "Pidge, up."

"Mm?" Pidge sucked strongly, and Lance's hips bucked a bit in automatic reaction. Biting his lip, he hooked a finger into the strap of her simple scoop necked dress and tugged gently.

"Come up here," he insisted.

Obediently, Pidge popped off his dick, rising to press herself against him as she sealed her lips over his. The head of his dick slid against the soft fabric of her dress.

 _'Lipstick,'_ Lance thought briefly, but was lost in chasing the taste of himself on her tongue as he licked into her mouth. Reaching down, he gathered up the soft green fabric of the skirt that stopped just above her knees, careful not to crease it as he trailed his fingers up her thigh. He met the elastic lace of the tops of her stockings, and his eyebrows shot up. "Thigh-high stockings. You hate thigh-high stockings. You planned this."

Pidge shrugged. "Not quite. I _hoped_ for it."

"And what would you do if I actually wanted you to stop?" Lance grumbled.

In his arms, Pidge stilled. "Is that what you want?" she asked, voice carefully neutral as she stared at the starched fabric of his crisp white button-down.

"I..." Lance thought of her going back out there, and having to watch as her mother tried to steer her towards all of the young men who were richer, smarter, and better-connected than him. "No."

Pidge's legs shifted, spreading under his fingers as she leaned up to put her mouth next to his ear. "Then fuck me."

Lance's breath hitched and he gave up the pretense of resisting, finding the edge of her panties and shifting them, sliding his fingers under the fabric to find her already damp and swollen. "You're wet," he sighed, pressing a gentle finger to her folds.

Pidge bucked up into his hand impatiently. "You're hot."

Lance snorted. "There's plenty of other hot guys out there."

"None of them are you." Pidge's hand curled over his neck, pulling him down to her. Her free hand went back to his aching dick, grasping him and pumping him firmly.

Lance sighed into her mouth as his fingers stroked her damp folds, toying briefly with her clit before following the seam of them and pressing his finger inside, sliding easily all the way to his knuckle. "You're _so_ wet."

His dick twitched as she clamped down on his finger when he tried to withdraw, and he had a fleeting thought about her dress as he felt a bead of precome well up at the tip.

"I've been watching you," Pidge admitted, sighing as his fingers worked into her, stroking and teasing. "We need to hurry."

"I know." Lance drew his fingers out of her, giving her clit one last teasing flick that had her shivering as he turned them around, putting her back at the wall and lifting her up.

 _"Yes,"_ Pidge hissed as she hooked her ankles around his waist, unceremoniously yanking the soft green skirt out of the way and grabbing his dick. He got a brief flash of her sex as she drew her panties aside, and then she was lining him up and notching him against her opening. 

She shuddered as he slid inside, and Lance shuddered with her, biting back a groan as he pinned her to the wall with his shoulders. He _wanted_ to drop his head to her shoulder, or kiss her neck or… but he couldn’t. If Pidge walked back from “the bathroom” looking like she’d been well-fucked, people would ask questions.

 _‘I can’t touch her in any way that matters,’_ Lance thought whimsically.

“Lance—” Pidge squirmed against him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs and drawing his attention back to her. 

Lance fucked into her hard and fast, pinning her to the wall with his shoulders, hands gripping her twitching thighs and holding her up as he pistoned into her. She was like a velvet vice—so tight he could scarcely move, but her breathless entreaties left him helpless to do anything but obey as she clawed at his shirt. 

_“Ah...ah…”_ Her hips flexed as her inner muscles spasmed, a rush of wetness accompanying her release.

 _“Yes,”_ he hissed, driving into her. _“There._ Do that again.”

“I can’t— I don’t—” Pidge bit off a string of expletives, mouth biting down on the collar of his jacket as she moaned, spasming around him. Her legs clenched around his hips, effectively preventing him from moving, but that didn’t matter because Lance was already tumbling after her, hips pinning her to the wall and flexing helplessly as he spilled within her.

Pidge twitched around him, both of them panting as they came down from their shared high. Finally, Pidge’s legs loosened, and Lance reluctantly pulled away, slipping out of her and letting her legs drop to the floor as she rearranged her skirt. 

“You okay?” he asked, tucking himself back into his slacks as he discreetly checked the damage. Her hair was mussed after all, but she was already finger-combing it back into place. Her dress didn’t appear too wrinkled, despite the beating it had taken. She would probably need to touch up her powder, but he’d done a good job of keeping his mouth off of her, so there were no obvious marks, and Lance privately patted himself on the back for his restraint.

...for whatever _that_ was worth, he amended privately. He’d still fucked her, so clearly it wasn’t his forte. 

“I am _so_ much better now,” Pidge smirked. “You?”

Lance checked himself over: his pants were undoubtedly a mess, but for now the jacket would cover whatever stains showed up. His firearm was still securely in it’s holster, safety on. No stains on his cuffs. “How does my collar look?”

“Stain free.” Pidge smacked her lips, showing him her remarkably undisturbed lipstick. “This stuff is semi-permanent ink—I actually need oil to remove it.”

“Better avoid the salad, then, it has a vinaigrette dressing,” Lance told her.

“Hm. Will do.” Pidge hummed, then turned a quick circle. “Am I okay to go back out?”

Lance eyed her hair and dress critically, then nodded. “Perfect as always,” he said.

Pidge shot him a bemused look. “You’ve seen me fresh off of three pots of coffee and an all night bender, with my hair in tangles and my clothes stained and ripped.”

Lance’s lips quirked. “As I said.” 

“Hah!” Pidge rolled her eyes, then leaned up, curling her fingers around his nape to draw him down and press her lips to his in an uncommonly tender display. 

Lance cleared his throat, then gestured at the door. “Go get ‘em, Tiger. Find the one who might actually be able to keep up with you.”

Pidge stared at him for a moment, expression indecipherable, before she offered him a small smile and a nod as she turned towards the door.

 _Enjoy it while it lasts,_ he reminded himself, chest aching as he watched Pidge slip out the door and into the hallway. By the time she hit the ballroom, he knew she would redonned her persona as Princess Katie: the brilliant tech guru with a royal pedigree and a smart mouth, and all the idiots her parents thought might be worthy of her would resume vying for her attention.

Needlessly, Lance fussed with his jacket and cuffs, checked his lapels and collar as he counted to one hundred before slipping out to resume his patrol as Agent Lance McClain, Royal Protection detail and former farm boy.

 _Enjoy it while it lasts._

...it was all he could do.


End file.
